July 12, 2013

Biking the Road to Siachen

Having
successfully undertaken an arduous bicycle trip from Gilgit to the
northern-most latitude of Pakistan
at KilakPass
in May 2012, I and my former Air Force colleague Shahid Dad pledged to keep our
fast-aging sinew and muscle in action over the coming years.So thrilling was the previous wind-in-the-face
biking expedition – with camping halts in the midst of snow leopard trails –
that we promised ourselves a perennial treat in the Himalayas.
It was decided that for 2013, Baltistan’s
ShyokValley
would be the place to explore, via the road from Skardu till its termination at
the base of Siachen Glacier near Goma.Of course, Army contacts would take care of our forays into operational
areas if we could make it that far.

Arrival at Skardu by PIA’s ATR-42
aircraft – aptly named Hasanabdal, for that is where my alma mater was – would
have been a happy occasion, except for the rude discovery that our luggage had
been left behind at Islamabad. With a lot of string pulling and a bit of good
luck, the luggage arrived the following morning while we waited it out in an
Army guest house amidst the serene surroundings of Lower Kachura Lake, on the
outskirts of Skardu. Our bikes, which had been earlier booked by bus, also
arrived and we managed to assemble them for a test ride the next day.

The stark desert landscape and the hot weather on the way
to Shigar did us no good as we pedalled our way over some gruelling terrain;
the ShigarRiver
that meandered alongside was some relief for our eyes, though. On the outskirts
of Shigar a notice board caught our attention; it advised “all visitors to
avoid playing all types of immoral audio-video songs and ladies are requested
to please use vail (sic) during visit to Shigar.”

Shigar evoked memories of a wondrously vigorous Air Force colleague
of yesteryears who carried that surname, so a visit to his fabled land would also
satisfy our curiosity about his community, we thought.In the event, it turned out the Shigaris are
less energetic than our friend who was one of his kind, though a hardy and
stout people they certainly are. After
three hours of cycling we were lucky to stumble into a store which kept ice-cold
beverages, and we made sure that dehydration wouldn’t rear its head again as
bottle after bottle was guzzled in front of amused onlookers in the shabby Shigar
bazaar.

The high point
of our trip to Shigar was the discovery of an ultimate getaway in the form of
Shigar Fort Residency, the palace of the former Rajas and now a renovated
heritage guest house run by the SerenaHotels chain. The exotic 17th century fort-palace
at the foot of a mountain is highly recommended for honeymooners, as well as
seniors who might want to revitalize their sagging proclivity for fun.Being on a serious expedition, tired and
hungry, we could do no better for ourselves than ordering a nourishing lunch. While
it was being readied, we took a guided tour of the palace, which included a
peep into the prisoners’ hellish dungeons in the basement and a stroll through
the Raja and Rani’s heavenly bedrooms, separate as they were. The sumptuous lunch by the side of a hill
torrent cascading out of ThalleValley
could, unhappily, not be prolonged as we still had a laborious journey to
complete on utterly spent muscles.Thank
goodness, by the end of the day we had completed the 55-km trial run, the bikes
had behaved perfectly and we were well in time at Skardu to tend our sore limbs.

Our
expedition proper started next day, the 13th of June, with the first
of the six 50-km legs terminating at Keris, a village where ShyokRiver joins the mighty Indus
during the latter’s north-westerly traverse.Somehow, the limbs sprang back to full pedalling efficiency, and by late
afternoon we were in the village scouting for a camp site. Shahid was able to convince a friendly
villager to allow us to camp adjacent to his orchard.The sooner we started to pitch our tents,
hordes of children started to congregate, for the novelty of seeing camping
tourists – even though natives – in their midst was too much to let go. The
colourful tents surrounded by even more colourfully dressed children gave the
impression of a gala event in Keris. By evening, word had spread about the
visitors and almost every boy and girl of the village had managed an awe-struck
glimpse of our campsite.Most touching
was a gesture from three little girls who brought handfuls of sweet mulberries
for us. An early supper being heated on the camp stove was also very entertaining
for the onlookers.Soon after we had
retired, a thoughtful local brought a heavy jerry can of drinking water which could
have sufficed for our bathing needs as well.

After a restive
night – as anyone who has been sandwiched in a sleeping bag would know – we
were woken up by an incessant melodious whistle that was bird song at its
best.A Blue Whistling Thrush (Myiophoneus caeruleus) had taken
upon itself to wake us up at 4:30 in
the morning.Soon we were at the nearby
stream for a wash up, followed by stove-cooked breakfast of oat meal and hot chocolate.
Camp was then broken, and everything packed and trussed up on the bikes. By 7 o’clock, we were on the road again.

Khaplu, nestled amongst lush green orchards of apricots,
apples, cherries and walnuts, was our next stop. The small town was once the seat
of another petty principality, to which the splendidly restored Khaplu Fort
Residency testifies. It is from Khaplu
that most mountaineering expeditions veer off towards various base camps.A well stocked single-street bazaar caters to
their basic requirements. The consumer lifestyle of the locals was surprisingly
in evidence, perhaps a result of the influence of these trekking groups and
climbing expeditions.

Too tired for sightseeing in Khaplu, we decided to take a
day’s break on the return leg and hastened to the PTDC Motel where we had a
booking. The beautiful structure looks like a Swiss chalet from afar, but we
were disappointed to discover appalling house-keeping and general apathy that now
seems to afflict every government-run organisation in the country. After some livid
dressing down administered to the staff, we made sure that the bathroom taps worked,
dangling curtains were re-hooked and the bed linen and towels were
changed.With a much needed bath,
laundry and lunch out of the way, we reviewed our plans for the next day as the
climb gradient was getting to be steeper on every leg. Since the next two
nights were to be in the Army Mess at Dumsum (Dansem), we decided to leave the
camping gear at the motel, to be picked up on return.

The
third leg started with an entry into areas where the Army was deployed, but since
the authorities had been informed earlier, getting past the quizzical eyes of
the sentries at various check points was never a problem. A cool rainy morning
and a much lighter bike load helped negotiate the steep slopes with
considerably less effort. The terraced emerald-green fields steadily crept
upwards as we climbed, and the fruit orchards started to give way to the more
hardy turnips and potatoes. Traffic had thinned out and only military vehicles,
or those of civilian contractors provisioning the Army garrisons could be seen
on the road. Just when six hours of rigorous cycling had started to take its
toll, an MP post came into reassuring view and the sentries smartly paid their
compliments. A few kilometres further, we caught sight of the Dumsum garrison
buildings. As we approached the entry gate, a flurry of whistles and rifle
slamming salutes welcomed us; even more surprising was the reception by the
Officer Commanding of the deployed Unit who, along with all his officers, had
lined up to receive us. Thereafter started an unending round of Army
hospitality of which a hot bath, hot tea, and a multi-course dinner are still
etched in memory.

While we had planned to pedal up to
Goma garrison the next morning, the Army authorities offered us a ride on their
daily mail run vehicle all the way to the Siachen base camp at Giyari.Since this could not have been done on bikes,
given the very steep gradient as well as the high altitude, the offer was
gladly accepted.After an hour-long
drive, we had a short stopover at Goma where the smart Brigade Major was there
to receive us. After a change of vehicle, we were on course to Giyari, a
further eight kilometres away. The place made morbid headlines on 7 April 2012, when an avalanche buried
140 personnel of 6 NLI Battalion, perhaps one of the biggest disasters of its
kind, anywhere.

Mention must be made of Captain
Sherazi of the Army Engineers, who had been part of a recovery team looking for
the dead bodies for more than one year. Various foreign rescue and recovery
teams had suggested giving up the dead, due to the extremely harsh conditions and
near impossibility of bringing in heavy machinery to such a remote location.
Undeterred, the Army decided to take on the challenge, and under the passionate
zeal of Sherazi and his team, 132 bodies had been recovered by the time we
visited. A closure ceremony, including the unveiling of a
memorial monument, had been planned as a final tribute to the
‘shaheeds’.The trip to Giyari ended
with a gracious send-off by the Deputy Brigade Commander and one of the local
Battalion Commanders.

After
relaxing for the rest of the day at Dumsum, we took leave from our hosts the
following morning and set course for the return leg to Khaplu. The downhill
bike ride was great fun and we even notched gale speeds of 55-kph. It was
decided that we needed a break from the unceasingly tough regimen, and some
sightseeing in Khaplu would be therapeutic.A visit to the Khaplu Fort Residency – also run by SerenaHotels – was an education in
heritage conservation; its renovation by Aga Khan Trust was quite similar to
the one at Shigar. We had lunch and some
delicious Lavazza coffee, before setting off to see the old Chaqchan Mosque not
too far from the Residency. The wooden mosque is said to have been commissioned
by Mir Syed Ali Hamdani in 1381 AD (783 AH according to the plaque), making it
one of the oldest in the country. The structure is rather decrepit and needs
renovation on the lines of Khaplu Residency; however, being an in-use mosque of
the dominant Nur Bakhshi Shia sect, the Ismailis' Aga Khan Trust would hardly be welcome
to undertake the project.

Next day, the ride from Khaplu to
Keris was a familiar and unremarkable one. We decided to camp in a secluded
spot by the riverside at the edge of Keris, to keep away from the prying eyes of locals. Somehow, a dozen youngsters still managed to
spy us; perhaps it was the aroma of the noodles being cooked on the stove that
attracted them, or maybe they had caught a flash of the colourful tents from
afar. After shooing them off, we retired early to be up at dawn for another
day’s slog.

The tenth day of the expedition
turned out to be the toughest, if for no other reason than the sun being absolutely
merciless. On the way we stopped by a huge tree and were pleasantly surprised
to see its boughs laden with ripe, dark red mulberries. Much like overgrown
schoolchildren, we had a hearty fill devouring every mulberry within arm’s
reach. Still some distance from Skardu, we were surprised to hear the noise of
fighter aircraft which had deployed for an exercise.The nostalgia was boundless when we spotted a pair of the old faithful Mirages
piercing the azure skies.

It was to be another hour before we actually got to Skardu, choking on diesel fumes that have heavily polluted the city’s pristine air.Vehicles have been converted to the high-torque diesel engines with non-existent emission standards, and nobody seems to care as long as they can easily spin up a mountain.A consumption-oriented society is on the rise, as was amply evident from the array of consumer goods in the smallest of stores.We were, however, quite pleased to note that sectarianism, as it exists in other parts of the country as well as nearby Gilgit and Chilas areas, is non-existent in all of Baltistan. The people are friendly and peaceful, and seemingly the only curiosity about them is linguistic, for the Balti language belongs to the Sino-Tibetan family, unlike the rest of the country where languages belonging to the Indo-European family are spoken (the other exception being Brauhi of the Dravidian family).Baltistan surely has a place on the ethnographic map of Pakistan.

While we waited for our return flight to Islamabad, we had a couple of days to saunter around so a tough bike ride to SatparaLake and a jeep ride to Deosai Plains was also undertaken.All in all, the Baltistan expedition was a total success and the wonder was that at our age, we could manage it on muscle power. Let’s see if we can pull off another one next year to celebrate our official entry into the Seniors’ Club!

Kaiser your blogs are trying (trying, mind you) to force me to write about my experiences of my stay in the area during my service days (78-79 and 90-92) and numerous other occasions I have been to this place. However since the roads were non-existent in those days they shall be more of a foot sloggers woes ......